'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  “What is the news on his fiancée anyways?”

  Elsa cursed herself and dragged a balmy hand down the side of her face. “I don't know.”

  “Now, that's hardly true.” Fenris sidled up between Ingrid's legs, circling figure eights around her delicate ankles. “Why, Marshall said so himself that he and the cover girl are no more.”

  Ingrid lifted a pair of manicured eyebrows at Elsa. “Is that true?”

  “Quite.” Fenris purred, rubbing his shoulder against her pale, shapely ankles. “There have been no midnight door slams as of late. And likewise, the shop’s ceiling tiles have been still for quite some time.”

  Elsa folded her arms across her chest. “This is strictly business.”

  “I know.” Ingrid nodded. “Which is why I'm giving you permission to behave badly.”

  Elsa slowly lifted her eyebrows. “Permission?”

  “Yes. Please, Elsa,” she seized her shoulders, “behave badly.” She grabbed the white dress hanging over her shoulder and pressed it in Elsa’s hands. “You need this.”

  She pushed it back. “No, Ingrid, you need this. I am more than happy to live out my years alone.”

  “As an old crone,” Fenris added.

  She straightened to her full five feet. “With cake.”

  “I am not suggesting you saddle yourself with a mate.” She wrinkled her nose with displeasure. “Men are miserable creatures. Suitable only for the pleasure and seed they provide. Friendship is reserved for betters.”

  Fenris frowned. “I am male, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” Ingrid kicked the feline from beneath her skirts. “For your gender.” The cat's spine bowed as it skidded across the planks, hissing. “Elsa,” she pushed the dress in Elsa's hands, “go out and get nailed.” Elsa opened her mouth and she held up her hand. “Before you kill something.”

  Elsa blinked. “Is it that bad?”

  “Yes,” the cat and the huldra agreed.

  The shop door banged shut. Having escorted a happy Mrs. Potts out, Marshall turned and the light spilled across his face, illuminating his pale skin and snowy blue eyes. He smiled and the curve of his ivory fang snared the light.

  “I stand corrected.” Ingrid leaned in on a whisper, “Go get staked.”

  Elsa’s cheeks heated. Impetuous nymph.

  Marshall picked up two shopping bags he’d deposited by the door. “A pleasure seeing you again, Mistress Ingrid.”

  Ingrid slid her dainty hand into his and allowed him to brush his mouth across her knuckles. “A pleasure, indeed, Master Marshall.”

  Electricity and tension zinged between the two Dominants. Master observing Master. Predator observing predator. And all it did was provide a terrible reminder that Ingrid and Marshall were not complete strangers to one another. They operated in the same painted leather stratosphere.

  Suddenly, Marshall’s appearance at Club Brimstone made much more sense. Elsa’s mind drew her back to the images. Ingrid's pleasing legs, now so demurely concealed by the taffeta skirts, wrapped around her submissive’s head. Elsa slanted a hard look between the two of them as he held her hand, a little too long for propriety’s sake.

  Of course—why should she be surprised? It was only natural for Ingrid to show up in her corsets and leather and eclipse all and everything around her.

  “Marvelous exhibition. Brendon will make a good submissive.”

  She withdrew and laid the mountain of dresses on the counter. “Many thanks, sir vampire.”

  Well, chocolate beckons… Elsa tried to slip past Ingrid to the trap door and was halted by an elegant hand on her arm. “Elsa, darling, I must be going. Have a merry time, and remember,” she pressed that dangerous lipstick near Elsa’s ear, “release your inner whore.”

  Ears hot from embarrassment, Elsa rubbed the back of her sleeve across her tingling mouth. “Curse Christmas.”

  Ingrid gathered her cloak off a skeleton in the corner, pinned her hat on, and lowered the veil below her blackberry-stained lips. “And a fair season’s greetings to you as well.” She grabbed her walking cane and offered the vampire her hand. “Until we meet again, Master Marshall.”

  He squeezed, “Until then, Mistress Ingrid.”

  The door banged shut behind the huldra, leaving Elsa and Marshall to stare at one another in silence. Gray light slanted in from the shop door, making his eyes glow like the blue at the bottom of a glittering well. They betrayed none of the man’s soul. He watched her as she watched him. Vacantly. He was so still, so perfect in every hard line he cut—he almost looked like he belonged amongst her inventory. Just another poor soul turned to stone.

  “Yes, well,” started the cat. “I would love to tarry, what with all this riveting conversation, but I must be off.” Fenris jumped from his perch on the counter and was swallowed into another realm.

  Marshall motioned to the door at his back. “Mrs. Potts wanted me to extend her apology.”

  Elsa shuffled her feet. “Thank you.”

  “Does that sort of thing happen often? Confusion with another store, that is.”

  She shook her head. “Not too often.”

  They stood awkwardly for a moment. Well, she stood awkwardly. He watched with a growing amusement. Curse him.

  “I have to finish packing.” Elsa gathered the bulk of dresses Ingrid had left on her counter and descended the trap door’s narrow steps. “It would help if I knew where we were going.”

  “Should I follow you down?”

  “Yes, vampire.”

  His solid frame blocked out the light as he trailed her and she murmured under her breath, lighting the sconces mounted into the slender staircase’s stone walls.

  “Do you live down here?”

  “Obviously, vampire. I'm hardly leading you to Australia.”

  He gifted her with a snippet of laughter.

  Elsa bit her lip and ducked her chin in the fabric in her arms as she quickly hobbled down the few steps into her humble abode. His solid footsteps came to a stop and she halted.

  Marshall’s eyes roved around her home as if he’d never seen such a dwelling. Curved archways and smooth domed ceilings. His shiny black shoes clacked against the slated rock floors as he dragged his fingertips along the carvings wallpapering the stone. Man and beast locked in grisly scenes of death and disaster. Dragons and wyverns. Fey and the stories of her people.

  Wonder shone in his eyes as his brain assimilated the information, the cool detachment fading from his gaze. The minor change somehow transformed him from a vampire to a man.

  She tilted her head, “What you were expecting?”

  “Not at all. Rest easy, Ms. Karr, you continue to be a mystery to me.” He studied the calligraphic swirls marking the stone archway into the common area. “Your people's markings?”

  She turned on her heel and stomped across the living area. “Don't you wish you'd paid more attention in school, vampire?”

  “Sorely,” he chuckled. “Don’t fret, Ms. Karr, I will figure it out someday. All mysteries are meant to be solved eventually.”

  She deposited the gaggle of dresses on the small stool next to her closet. Not if I can help it.

  “I've brought some things for you.” Marshall stood in her doorway, studying the protection markings her father had etched into the vault ages ago. He held out a fat black shopping bag, price tags and fabric erupting over the top. “Samples.”

  She hugged the bag to her chest and pinched a hot pink pearl thong. The scrap of fabric swung from the tip of her finger. “What is this nonsense?”

  “Our prey. This bag is filled with clothing samples for you to wear during our excursion. Ms. Karr, allow me the pleasure of introducing your target, Madame Mari,” he plucked a gleaming business card from his breast pocket and offered it between his fingers, “of Sinister Stitches.”

  Two gold needles and a snippet of magical thread crossed over a glossy black background. Metallic, bold swirly font with an address and business hours.

  Els
a flipped the varnished cardstock over. “I know this place.”

  “Really?” Marshall mimicked her confusion and tilted his head. “You continue to surprise me, Elsa.”

  She glanced down at the scraps of fabric in her arms and flushed. “Oh, I’ve never actually shopped there.”

  “Mistress Ingrid?”

  “She loves it in there.”

  “Well, now you're going to have to pretend to love it too.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He pointed to the business card. “Do remember we are trying to sign an account, Ms. Karr.”

  “My purpose is to help you find the fey. Why must I walk around half naked to do that?”

  “You won't be half naked,” Marshall argued.

  Fenris cleared his throat and pawed at a swatch of orange fabric on the floor. Apparently, they aspired to be some sort of bottoms. Perhaps shorts. Marshall snatched it and stuffed the wad of lace in his pocket. “Well, with the exception of that one.” He frowned at the cat. “I thought you were leaving.”

  The tabby shrugged. “Well, so long as you're being interesting…”

  “The cat is not your more pressing concern, vampire.”

  The life in his eyes faded, leaving nothing but the shell of a vampire. “Elsa, I need your cooperation.”

  “You have my cooperation.” She shoved the samples at his chest. “This isn’t part of it.” She turned to leave, but he reached out for her. Her spine went rigid as she glowered at the offending hand on her shoulder. “Release me, vampire.” Her mind flashed with images of the were in the alley and her fingers curled into tight fists. “Or I will break you, too.”

  Challenge surged to life in his sharp gaze, but the vampire pocketed his hand. “Ms. Karr, it is important you wear the dresses for several reasons. We must present the proper image. It is imperative we—”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?” She glanced down at her coffee brown frock. It was simple. The sleeves were fraying and the hem garbled and eaten, but it was sturdy. Warm. Safe.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Karr—”

  Ring, ring!

  Marshall swore and handed the shopping bag to Elsa, one or two of the garments spilling onto the floor. He plucked his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “Ms. Karr, please find it in your heart to wear the dresses or the deal is off.” He pressed the phone to his ear. “Ansley.”

  Elsa stiffened as though he’d struck her. Ignoring Fenris’ little smirk, she stomped across the threadbare carpet and yanked Marshall around by his shoulder. She snatched the phone and jabbed it at his chest. “Understand this, vampire. I will not be seen in this frill.”

  He did little more than stare.

  Out of all the ways he could’ve reacted, the possibility of him simply not reacting at all hadn’t crossed her mind. Towering over her, having fallen back to brace himself against the edge of her kitchen table, he was statuesque. At first, his eyes had widened with shock. And then, she’d expected him to look at her the way he always had. Sharp and assessing. But shock had given away quickly to something else. Something that raised the hairs on the back of her neck and had her staring up at him like an apparition.

  Stormy blue eyes were magnetic and compelling, drawing her to him. She flexed her fingers around the phone into the solid wall of his chest. His eyes darkened. With heat. Ardor and anger. All of it was just barely caged beneath the surface of a calm poised to pounce on her from the shadows. Slowly, his gaze slid and latched onto her frown.

  Elsa’s mouth went dry, and she forced herself to take one step back. And then another. She withdrew her hand from his chest, surprised the phone didn’t just clatter onto the floor. He held it. How, she didn’t know. She hadn’t seen him move. She wasn’t sure she could if he didn’t want her to. Curling her fingers into a fist at her side, she tried to convince herself he hadn’t made her run away. He had not backed her off with a mere look.

  The ticking of the grandfather clocks in the shop overhead drifted down the narrow ladder like a downpour. Her skin heated and crawled beneath his scrutiny. She tried to force herself to meet his gaze and couldn’t. She couldn’t lift her eyes past the satin white tie noosed around his neck. “I should probably finish packing.”

  “Elsa…” Her name sounded sweet on his lips. It didn’t sound like the Norwegian cleaning lady whose perfume was always three layers too strong. On his lips, her name sounded exotic and…saucy.

  His footsteps echoed in the room and he lifted the bag of samples by two fingertips. “Wear the clothes I brought.” The heat chilled as he added, “As a favor to me.”

  His expression was smooth, but his eyes were open. Solemn, even. Honest, she thought, for the first time since they’d met. Shade lingering on the stone walls crackled, tendrils dancing at the hem of her tunic. It waved like lace in the wind and urged her back toward the vampire until they stood two inches too close.

  “Please.” He lowered his eyes and thick eyelashes fanned across his high cheekbones. A small concession on his part, perhaps. Surely not a show of submission. Or weakness. There was something maddening about the arrogance in his every movement. Something that suggested he wouldn’t know how to kneel if someone kicked his legs out from under him. “It will make starting a conversation with Madame Mari much easier for me, and greatly increase our—of course, I mean, my chances that she or one of her family members might by chance strike up a conversation with one or both of us.”

  A red swatch of lace and satin snared her attention. If only he could understand. Her stomach twisted with dread at the mere thought of expensive fabric grating across her skin like sandpaper, clinging awkwardly to her rolls and valleys. Putting her on display for all the supernatural and blessedly beautiful to see.

  “Elsa,” he pulled a black wreath of fabric from the bag and offered it to her, “I picked this one.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “How are you even sure it will fit?”

  “That is the appeal of Sinister Stitches. What makes their clothes different from any others. The sisters have found a way to sew magic into the fabric. The dress will instantly accommodate any body type.”

  Her eyes fell to the gown. She would have to examine it later. “One size fits all?”

  “Yes.” He gently grabbed one of her wrists, the pad of his thumb brushing across the sensitive inner flesh until he worked her fingers limp. Touch. So gentle. So…sensual and warm. Sweat pebbled on her brow and she fought to keep from tearing her hand out of his.

  He pressed the dress into her palm. “Please, just try it on.”

  Elsa snatched it. “Oh, enough already.”

  Thanking hell and creation for his silver tongue, Marshall gave her his back. His phone vibrated, the screen flashing with an incoming phone call. Ava was probably in a panic. He tried to remember the last person to dare snatch his phone from him in the middle of a work call.

  Marshall lifted his gaze as if his answer was lurking somewhere amongst the room’s sparse decorations. Decrepit antique furniture. Piles of haphazard trinkets. Threadbare rugs that appeared like they could’ve been worth a lot of money at some point. That was a carrying theme. Old, worn, and past its prime. The beauty was still there, though.

  A moving photograph resting on the small table next to the lone chair in the room drew his attention. Shoving his flashing phone in his pocket, he closed the distance to the heavy leather recliner and plucked the frame made of jelly beans.

  Wind circling dust and snowflakes, the Bits and Pieces shop door offering a warm glow to stem the snowy night. Her hair was curlier and her nose was little more than a tiny button between two big green eyes, but aside from that, it was easily Elsa as a child. Held abreast by a burly, stout man. Their cheeks were ruddy with cold as she jogged up the three steps and leapt into the man’s arms, eventually lifting his plaid cap to press a kiss on top of his pate.

  The sound of clothing being shorn teased his ears.

  Marshall's attention faded into the future, and he
found himself peering at an almost spectral reflection of Elsa in the picture's glass. She extended her arms above her head, tugging off the wool dress. Her shoulders were dainty in their lines, but broad in their shape. She was no stranger to hard work. The tips of her cherry curls spilled, camouflaging her back in a wave of red fire. She bundled up the frock into a ball and set it on the edge of a nightstand covered in potions, leaving her nude with the exception of fraying cotton panties, a light tank top, and moth-eaten wool, knee-high socks.

  Generous hips flared and he followed the swells of her round ass down the slope of her thick thighs and calves to her dainty ankles. Mother of God. What the fuck? Why? Why would anyone disguise such a vivacious body beneath such hideous garments? Marshall was pleased with his brilliance all over again for remembering to pick up the samples from design on his way out of the office. Some of the pieces, he'd chosen at random. Others, he had not. He wasn't sure where the black wreath Elsa was pulling down the curves of her lush body came from, but he wasn't going to tell her any different.

  “All right, vampire. You can look.”

  Exposing the tops of her creamy shoulders, everything below her collarbone was nothing but inky black mystery. Velvet fabric was cinched tight across her generous breasts, the swell of her stomach and powerful hips. It clung to her curves like a breathing second skin until it fell in a flounce and fanned out at her knees to pool at the floor.

  Long lace sleeves covered her arms and the back of her hand in a triangle that hooked in place onto her middle finger. Topped with a mass of fire licking down her shoulders and back in angry tendrils, she looked like some kind of angry flower. Not quite a rose. She had far more bite. Like a gnarled spider lily twisting in briar-thorns.

  She clasped her hands together in a tight knot. “Shall I color my hair differently as well? You know, to protect your image.”

  “Not necessary but if you’re in a hurry to make changes, I prefer blondes.”

  “Ha.” She snorted unattractively. “I only come in one color.”

  “Now, now, Ms. Karr,” he toyed with his phone, “I never said how I felt about redheads.”